lief of Egremont, who was a little embarrassed. "The average
term of life in this district among the working classes is seventeen.
What think you of that? Of the infants born in Mowbray, more than a
moiety die before the age of five."

"And yet," said Egremont, "in old days they had terrible pestilences."

"But they touched all alike," said Gerard. "We have more pestilence now
in England than we ever had, but it only reaches the poor. You never
hear of it. Why Typhus alone takes every year from the dwellings of the
artisan and peasant a population equal to that of the whole county of
Westmoreland. This goes on every year, but the representatives of the
conquerors are not touched: it is the descendants of the conquered alone
who are the victims."

"It sometimes seems to me," said Sybil despondingly, "that nothing short
of the descent of angels can save the people of this kingdom."

"I sometimes think I hear a little bird," said Gerard, "who sings that
the long frost may yet break up. I have a friend, him of whom I was
speaking to you the other day, who has his remedies."

"But Stephen Morley does not believe in angels," said Sybil with a sigh;
"and I have no faith in his plan."

"He believes that God will help those who help themselves," said Gerard.

"And I believe," said Sybil, "that those only can help themselves whom
God helps."

All this time Egremont was sitting at the table, with the book in his
hand, gazing fitfully and occasionally with an air of absence on its
title-page, whereon was written the name of its owner. Suddenly he said
"Sybil."

"Yes," said the daughter of Gerard, with an air of some astonishment.

"I beg your pardon," said Egremont blushing; "I was reading your name. I
thought I was reading it to myself. Sybil Gerard! What a beautiful name
is Sybil!"

"My mother's name," said Gerard; "and my grandame's name, and a name I
believe that has been about our hearth as long as our race; and that's a
very long time indeed," he added smiling, "for we were tall men in King
John's reign, as I have heard say."

"Yours is indeed an old family."

"Ay, we have some English blood in our veins, though peasants and the
sons of peasants. But there was one of us who drew a bow at Azincourt;
and I have heard greater things, but I believe they are old wives'
tales."

"At least we have nothing left," said Sybil, "but our old faith; and
that we have clung to through good report and evil report."

"And n